Prologue To "The King And Queen."[1]

UPON THE UNION OF THE TWO COMPANIES IN 1686.


        Since faction ebbs, and rogues grow out of fashion,
        Their penny scribes take care to inform the nation,
        How well men thrive in this or that plantation:

        How Pennsylvania's air agrees with Quakers,
        And Carolina's with Associators:
        Both even too good for madmen and for traitors.

        Truth is, our land with saints is so run o'er,
        And every age produces such a store,
        That now there's need of two New-Englands more.

        What's this, you'll say, to us and our vocation?
        Only thus much, that we have left our station,
        And made this theatre our new plantation.

        The factious natives never could agree;
        But aiming, as they call'd it, to be free,
        Those playhouse Whigs set up for property.

        Some say, they no obedience paid of late;
        But would new fears and jealousies create;
        Till topsy-turvy they had turn'd the state.

        Plain sense, without the talent of foretelling,
        Might guess 'twould end in downright knocks and quelling:
        For seldom comes there better of rebelling.

        When men will, needlessly, their freedom barter
        For lawless power, sometimes they catch a Tartar;
        There's a damn'd word that rhymes to this call'd Charter.

    But, since the victory with us remains,
        You shall be call'd to twelve in all our gains;
        If you'll not think us saucy for our pains.

    Old men shall have good old plays to delight them
        And you, fair ladies and gallants, that slight them,
        We'll treat with good new plays; if our new wits can write them.

    We'll take no blundering verse, no fustian tumour,
        No dribbling love, from this or that presumer;
        No dull fat fool shamm'd on the stage for humour.

    For, faith, some of them such vile stuff have made,
        As none but fools or fairies ever play'd;
        But 'twas, as shopmen say, to force a trade.

    We've given you tragedies, all sense defying,
        And singing men, in woful metre dying;
        This 'tis when heavy lubbers will be flying.

    All these disasters we well hope to weather;
        We bring you none of our old lumber hither;
        Whig poets and Whig sheriffs may hang together.

John Dryden

John Dryden was an influential English poet, literary critic, translator, and playwright who was made England’s first Poet Laureate in 1668. His work dominated the literary life of Restoration England and he is seen as a major figure in the literary history of the period. Dryden's notable works include the satirical poem 'Absalom and Achitophel' and the mock-heroic 'Mac Flecknoe.'

John Dryden

The Secular Masque.[1]

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Incantation In Oedipus.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Prologue To "Circe," A Tragic Opera; By Dr Davenant,[1] 1675.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Prologue To "Albumazar."[1]

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

English

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Prologue To "Albion And Albanius."

    Full twenty years and more, our labouring stage
    Has lost on this incorrigible age:
    Our poets, the John Ketches of the nation,
    Have seem'd to lash ye, even to excoriation:
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    What can we do, when mimicking a fop,
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Prologue To "King Arthur." Spoken By Mr Betterton.

    Sure there's a dearth of wit in this dull town,
    When silly plays so savourily go down;
    As, when clipt money passes, 'tis a sign
    A nation is not over-stock'd with coin.
    Happy is he who, in his own defence,
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Parody On The Speech Of Dr. Benjamin Pratt,[1] Provost Of Trinity College To The Prince Of Wales

Illustrious prince, we're come before ye,
Who, more than in our founders, glory
            To be by you protected;
Deign to descend and give us laws,
For we are converts to your cause,
            From this day well-affected.[2]

The noble view of your high merits
Has charm'd our thoughts and fix'd our spirits,
            With zeal so warm and hearty;
That we resolved to be devoted,
At least until we be promoted,
            By your just power and party.

Urged by a passionate desire
Of being raised a little higher,
            From lazy cloister'd life;
We cannot flatter you nor fawn,
But fain would honour'd be with lawn,
            And settled by a wife.[3]

For this we have before resorted,
Paid levees[4] punctually, and cou...

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Prologue. Spoken At The Opening Of The New House, March 26, 1674.

    A plain-built^[1] house, after so long a stay,
    Will send you half unsatisfied away;
    When, fallen from your expected pomp, you find
    A bare convenience only is design'd.
    You, who each day can theatres behold,
    Like Nero's palace, shining all with gold,
    Our mean ungilded stage will scorn, we fear,
    And, for the homely room, disdain the cheer.
    Yet now cheap druggets to a mode are grown,
    And a plain suit, since we can make but one,
    Is better than to be by tarnish'd gawdry known.
    They, who are by your favours wealthy made,
    With mighty sums may carry on the trade:
    We, broken bankers, half destroy'd by fire,
    With our small stock to humble roofs retire:
    Pity our loss, while you their pomp admire.
 ...

John Dryden

Prologue To "Arvirgus And Philicia Revived."

BY LODOWICK CARLELL, ESQ., 1690.

SPOKEN BY MR HART.


    With sickly actors and an old house too,
    We're match'd with glorious theatres and new;
    And with our alehouse scenes, and clothes bare worn,
    Can neither raise old plays, nor new adorn.
    If all these ills could not undo us quite,
    A brisk French troop is grown your dear delight;
    Who with broad bloody bills call you each day
    To laugh and break your buttons at their play;
    Or see some serious piece, which we presume
    Is fallen from some incomparable plume;
    And therefore, Messieurs, if you'll do us grace,
    Send lackeys early to preserve your place.
    We dare not on your privilege intrench,
    Or ask you why you like them? they are French.
    Therefor...

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Epilogue For "The King's House."[1]

    We act by fits and starts, like drowning men,
    But just peep up, and then pop down again.
    Let those who call us wicked change their sense;
    For never men lived more on Providence.
    Not lottery cavaliers are half so poor,
    Nor broken cits, nor a vacation whore;
    Not courts, nor courtiers living on the rents
    Of the three last ungiving parliaments:
    So wretched, that, if Pharaoh could divine,
    He might have spared his dream of seven lean kine,
    And changed his vision for the Muses Nine.
    The comet that, they say, portends a dearth,
    Was but a vapour drawn from play-house earth:
    Pent there since our last fire, and, Lilly says,
    Foreshows our change of state, and thin third-days.
    'Tis not our want of wit that keeps us...

John Dryden